Musya's heart beat ever more evenly, her breathing grew ever more calm and quiet.

She was falling asleep.

Her face looked fatigued and pale.

Beneath her eyes were dark circles, her girlish, emaciated hands seemed so thin,--but upon her lips was a smile.

To-morrow, with the rise of the sun, this human face would be distorted with an inhuman grimace, her brain would be covered with thick blood, and her eyes would bulge from their sockets and look glassy,--but now she slept quietly and smiled in her great immortality.
Musya fell asleep.
And the life of the prison went on, deaf and sensitive, blind and sharp-sighted, like eternal alarm itself.